Thanks to all who reviewed out there. I know I have a pluto-load of
mistakes and other shit. Please forgive me. Also a warm thankie to defiled
cherub for being my own chibi editor at some of my small mistakes. You're
so nice. I'm such an idiot. I don't know how I pass Language Arts each
trimsester. This wil be the last chapter I will load for a week. I have a
big debate on Tuesday. Damn I hate Tuesdays a lot, can't you tell? Oh yah,
a note to C. Lily and all Lustful Expectations lovers, I am so entirely
sorry for not updating that entirely too cute (that is one of my lighter
fics about Dracie and Hermie) fic, but I am under extreme writer's block
for that one. I was going to continue on for a new set of 10 of more
chapters, but I'll settle for 3 or 5 to finish it off. I'm already finished
with the next chapter, but I'm thinking whether or not to post it or not.
Convince me readers, review in the Tuesday's Child review department of er,
reviewing. Review, review, review for the sake of the sick Serena bastard
who just took my keyboard and shoved it down her pig's mouth.
Part Four: "Saturday"
"Very beautiful. I fear my happily married associate will have his heart stolen by this siren who took perch in my house, who I had caught with my bear hands and imprisoned in this obisidian cage. The siren I will set free, no matter how desirable she is. Come. Let us start your mission. Let us start our month to live." - Darien Shields, "Saturday"
The clothes he had "bought" for me were rather appealing to the beauty I knew not that I possessed. All was white, he explained to represent my cold innocence, the skirt a swaying curtain of Spanish silks, which I could smell the sweet spice of the land where this skirt bodice was made, the style of the Spanish seas and people. The top was a loosly ruffled blouse, shoulders bare, neckline bare, everything bare except for the seductively modest neckline where the top had started, carried by two pearl ribbons, elegant as the imposter in sheep's clothing.
"Who am I kidding? I am not . . . "
"Very beautiful. I fear my happily married associate will have his heart stolen by this siren who took perch in my house, who I had caught with my bear hands and imprisoned in this obisidian cage. The siren I will set free, no matter how desirable she is. Come. Let us start your mission. Let us start our month to live."
Him. Darien Shields was not a stranger to flattery, to seing beauty, but was I something of a gorgeous woman? All this was said as his breath pressed against my cheek, a hand reaching across to mine for a single touch that made my eyes close in pleasure. His lips met my shivering fingers, one taste to take away the cold. There, he escorted me to the kitchen where I would serve my final days with him. Somehow, freedom wasn't worth it.
Spices and scents had made the room into a carnal wonderland of tastes, of food. Heaven upon hell must have smelled like this: this heavenly, lascivious world of pleasure in food. I took in a deep breath, as he left the kitchent to greet his visitor. The bell rung after a period of silence, a sign to serve the appetizers and refreshments. Rather degrading, but I was a servant and I am who I am, Serena Lawrynce, a nobody who spent most of her life slaving away in the provinces of Japan because of the foster family who adopted a slave and treated her as one.
My sturdy, callous hands gripped the handle, as I entered the finely polished room, taking in the glory of it all, the expense of its extravagence, of how it reeked wealth. I took a look at the visitor once I reached the table with Darien's comforting eye towards me. Those sturdy hands had started abruptly in surprise when my head turned to see who the mysery person was to find my foster father, Sasakawa-san. The soda pop liquid slipped from my hands, as if it was smeared with the grease of some cheap margarine, into the lap of my abusive "father."
In impulse, I scurried off to get a basin and a towel to clean the mess I had created. To come back to a furious Japanese man and a curious young man. My knees directly went to the floor to scrub away the puddle of murky, maroon puddle with the fizz dispensing into the air. The position of a slave, on the ground, wiping the dirt off people's shoes.
"Dirty girl! Why, Shields, do you you keep such impotent servants? This one reminds me of one I had in my farm in the province. Ditzy, a dirty blond, an ugly whore. Wait." Those insults, everything, made me turn me head timidly, daring him to recognize me. That he did.
"There you are, slave. As an useless child, you were a slave. Now, a young woman, you still are. Pathetic." At this, he kicked my rib, causing me to fall helplessly on the wood, hard floor, caressing the cool, bitter texture mising with my hot, tearful eyes. Grabbing me, he threw me to the table, causing a vase of scarlet roses to stumble gracefully, showering me with its petals. As I cried, cried all my woes, especially to see the man I love watch the indiginity of all this, how I wasn't strong enought to save myself from dying again.
Expecting another hit, my face turned away to my side, protecting myself from a fatal blow. None came, not even a whisper. My swollen, reddened eyes opened slowly to find Darien pinning Sasakawa to the wall, the Japanese man nearly being choked to death. The raven-haired savior growled in a deadly tone, a blaze burning in those nearly black orbs, pitch-black, entirely different from the passion of that morning several days ago.
"Leave, Sasakawa, leave and never come back. Don't think that the agreement to save your business will continue now. Just leave, before your blood will appear in my hands. Darien escorted the man to door, practically throwing him out in the wet streets of London. While this was done, my hands reached forward to the cloth I was cleaning the spill with and continued. Stupidly.
He came back growling like some mad bear woken from his dreary slumber, stifling the heat of the madness towards me, sending shivers through my shoulders. It was intimidating, so I continued.
"Who was he to you? Why does he treat you like you aren't a beautiful person?" At his words, my labor stopped, as I rethought his flattery and almost believe him. I never was a beautiful person, attractive in some sense had never hailed upon me, so I grew knowing that beauty was not the rule of my house, but ugliness and deformity.
"Because I'm not." I said in a mere whisper that could have caused butterflies to doubt their hearing. Then, I continued whiping the spilled cola, not noticing the enraged look upon his face. A hand came to grab my elbow forcefully, but not painfully. His body had come to close radius of mine, pressing me against the wall, letting the oversoaked rag fall to the ground in slow motion. To me it was torchure and time, melding into my enemy. Passion.
"You are not ugly. Why the lack of self-confidence? Beauty is only skin- deep, but however, you surpassed both inner and outer to blind me with your glow. So mysterious," with this, a sensual finger dragged its velvet pleasure across my skin. "Very tasteful, my dear. I will show you your beauty, then after moaning a reply, you will see the depth of your appearance. A man would be foolish to ignore the angel before me, too bad, no other man can touch you like I can."
No. I whispered a "no," highly weak, as if it was merely a word with no meaning, to this he arched his raven-colored brow lushously. No man can touch me like he can? Seeking an answer in his near-midnight eyes, the sight of it had startled me to cower in pleasure of the dominance and lust reeking heavily in those eyes. Almost obsidian.
"I'm ugly, please don't waste your time and efforts on someone like me. No." Finally, my words were my final ones, to end the sexual tension of this room. Lips connected with lips, tasting and feeling, branding and marking. For punishment to show me of the non-existant beauty and the rush of adreniline coursing through my veins. His experience lips had traced a hot trail across towards my neck, the very swan-like neck. His tongue played wonders on my skin, fondling the velvet feel. Heaven, while living in hell. The hands long forgotten had pushed my snow-white skirt up higher than moral, tracing circles around the inside of my thigh, gaining a moan from the most inexperience.
Darien's POV -
"Mine. All mine to taste." Like a flash of light, pain and bittersweet pleasure had found a place to dance the tango upon my skin. Upon saying those words, my hands impulsively pulled back the curls of silk threads, flaxen, on that blessed head of hers, tipping her head, so there would be easy access to her throat. To brand her, to make her mine. Fangs came seducively upon that tasteful neck of hers to find the sweetest blood, finer than the dirty prostitutes I've sucked the life from, or the walking dead homeless on the streets. I could never taste another without the desire of this blood, for this woman. I must have her, all of Serena Lawrynce, first body, then mind, then heart. Reluctantly, I stopped, careful not to send her to heaven yet, knowing that her energy was the lowest pitfall. With one last, traitor lick across that scalding skin, I knew she belonged to me, soulmates for life. I branded her; she was mine.
No other man would taste her, or it would be his death sentence. Limply, her body fell unconscious from the lack of life, but I knew that she would survive. Like my great-grandpapa, Count Dracula, I carried the clad in white maiden to my obsidian room in the way a sexually-frustrated groom would carry his blushing bride.
Soon and very soon, you will be mine, little one.
Fourth episode of this shit show starring those shit chararcters
Bunny: Can I have another Bloody Mary and two tequillas?
Waiter/Waitress: Hey like, don't you think that is too much?
Bunny: *grabs him/her by the collar and points at the gay German guy and an eccentric Serena on stage for kareoke* I think that's too much, but does anything happen? No! Now get me three tequillas, lesbian.
Waiter/Waitress: But, I'm a guy with fake boobs.
Bunny: Do I give a shit if your boobs are real?
Waiter/Waitress: *runs away crying to his boyfriend*
Bunny: *watches Bunny and German Guy sing "Independent Woman" while a crowd of guys dance around a pole wearing a rag for a bikini*
A 99.9 drinks later . . .
Bunny: Opps. There goes my skirt. Opps. There goes my shirt. *stripteasing on top of the bar table* Whee.
Waiter/Waitress: I think maam that you should get off. You're scaring away the people.
Some gay guy named Cleo: Jonnie, my eyes hurt. It burns. Tell her to stop. Wahhh! *being comforted by boyfriend*
German guy and Serena: I think she's the wierd one.
German Guy (A.K.A. Pelly) Don't worry, God still loves her. *Suddenly a big voice from the sky bellows out "I don't love her. I love Hitler more." Sending a swarm of Mini-Barneys flying singing the "Hey Jude" song. At this very moment, the gay strip club was in chaos. The guys in bikinis were running around with their saggy butts going up and down, while perverted geeks with no girlfriends watch. The waiter/waitress is running to the girl's bathroom and starts making out with the janitor named Susan.
Bunny: Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
Pelly and Serena: Ahh. I'm in hell!
Bunny: Welcome to hell. Population: 3. Muwahahaha.
Pelly and Serena: *faces stuck to the window in attempts to escape* No!
Bunny: Hey Jude . . .
Part Four: "Saturday"
"Very beautiful. I fear my happily married associate will have his heart stolen by this siren who took perch in my house, who I had caught with my bear hands and imprisoned in this obisidian cage. The siren I will set free, no matter how desirable she is. Come. Let us start your mission. Let us start our month to live." - Darien Shields, "Saturday"
The clothes he had "bought" for me were rather appealing to the beauty I knew not that I possessed. All was white, he explained to represent my cold innocence, the skirt a swaying curtain of Spanish silks, which I could smell the sweet spice of the land where this skirt bodice was made, the style of the Spanish seas and people. The top was a loosly ruffled blouse, shoulders bare, neckline bare, everything bare except for the seductively modest neckline where the top had started, carried by two pearl ribbons, elegant as the imposter in sheep's clothing.
"Who am I kidding? I am not . . . "
"Very beautiful. I fear my happily married associate will have his heart stolen by this siren who took perch in my house, who I had caught with my bear hands and imprisoned in this obisidian cage. The siren I will set free, no matter how desirable she is. Come. Let us start your mission. Let us start our month to live."
Him. Darien Shields was not a stranger to flattery, to seing beauty, but was I something of a gorgeous woman? All this was said as his breath pressed against my cheek, a hand reaching across to mine for a single touch that made my eyes close in pleasure. His lips met my shivering fingers, one taste to take away the cold. There, he escorted me to the kitchen where I would serve my final days with him. Somehow, freedom wasn't worth it.
Spices and scents had made the room into a carnal wonderland of tastes, of food. Heaven upon hell must have smelled like this: this heavenly, lascivious world of pleasure in food. I took in a deep breath, as he left the kitchent to greet his visitor. The bell rung after a period of silence, a sign to serve the appetizers and refreshments. Rather degrading, but I was a servant and I am who I am, Serena Lawrynce, a nobody who spent most of her life slaving away in the provinces of Japan because of the foster family who adopted a slave and treated her as one.
My sturdy, callous hands gripped the handle, as I entered the finely polished room, taking in the glory of it all, the expense of its extravagence, of how it reeked wealth. I took a look at the visitor once I reached the table with Darien's comforting eye towards me. Those sturdy hands had started abruptly in surprise when my head turned to see who the mysery person was to find my foster father, Sasakawa-san. The soda pop liquid slipped from my hands, as if it was smeared with the grease of some cheap margarine, into the lap of my abusive "father."
In impulse, I scurried off to get a basin and a towel to clean the mess I had created. To come back to a furious Japanese man and a curious young man. My knees directly went to the floor to scrub away the puddle of murky, maroon puddle with the fizz dispensing into the air. The position of a slave, on the ground, wiping the dirt off people's shoes.
"Dirty girl! Why, Shields, do you you keep such impotent servants? This one reminds me of one I had in my farm in the province. Ditzy, a dirty blond, an ugly whore. Wait." Those insults, everything, made me turn me head timidly, daring him to recognize me. That he did.
"There you are, slave. As an useless child, you were a slave. Now, a young woman, you still are. Pathetic." At this, he kicked my rib, causing me to fall helplessly on the wood, hard floor, caressing the cool, bitter texture mising with my hot, tearful eyes. Grabbing me, he threw me to the table, causing a vase of scarlet roses to stumble gracefully, showering me with its petals. As I cried, cried all my woes, especially to see the man I love watch the indiginity of all this, how I wasn't strong enought to save myself from dying again.
Expecting another hit, my face turned away to my side, protecting myself from a fatal blow. None came, not even a whisper. My swollen, reddened eyes opened slowly to find Darien pinning Sasakawa to the wall, the Japanese man nearly being choked to death. The raven-haired savior growled in a deadly tone, a blaze burning in those nearly black orbs, pitch-black, entirely different from the passion of that morning several days ago.
"Leave, Sasakawa, leave and never come back. Don't think that the agreement to save your business will continue now. Just leave, before your blood will appear in my hands. Darien escorted the man to door, practically throwing him out in the wet streets of London. While this was done, my hands reached forward to the cloth I was cleaning the spill with and continued. Stupidly.
He came back growling like some mad bear woken from his dreary slumber, stifling the heat of the madness towards me, sending shivers through my shoulders. It was intimidating, so I continued.
"Who was he to you? Why does he treat you like you aren't a beautiful person?" At his words, my labor stopped, as I rethought his flattery and almost believe him. I never was a beautiful person, attractive in some sense had never hailed upon me, so I grew knowing that beauty was not the rule of my house, but ugliness and deformity.
"Because I'm not." I said in a mere whisper that could have caused butterflies to doubt their hearing. Then, I continued whiping the spilled cola, not noticing the enraged look upon his face. A hand came to grab my elbow forcefully, but not painfully. His body had come to close radius of mine, pressing me against the wall, letting the oversoaked rag fall to the ground in slow motion. To me it was torchure and time, melding into my enemy. Passion.
"You are not ugly. Why the lack of self-confidence? Beauty is only skin- deep, but however, you surpassed both inner and outer to blind me with your glow. So mysterious," with this, a sensual finger dragged its velvet pleasure across my skin. "Very tasteful, my dear. I will show you your beauty, then after moaning a reply, you will see the depth of your appearance. A man would be foolish to ignore the angel before me, too bad, no other man can touch you like I can."
No. I whispered a "no," highly weak, as if it was merely a word with no meaning, to this he arched his raven-colored brow lushously. No man can touch me like he can? Seeking an answer in his near-midnight eyes, the sight of it had startled me to cower in pleasure of the dominance and lust reeking heavily in those eyes. Almost obsidian.
"I'm ugly, please don't waste your time and efforts on someone like me. No." Finally, my words were my final ones, to end the sexual tension of this room. Lips connected with lips, tasting and feeling, branding and marking. For punishment to show me of the non-existant beauty and the rush of adreniline coursing through my veins. His experience lips had traced a hot trail across towards my neck, the very swan-like neck. His tongue played wonders on my skin, fondling the velvet feel. Heaven, while living in hell. The hands long forgotten had pushed my snow-white skirt up higher than moral, tracing circles around the inside of my thigh, gaining a moan from the most inexperience.
Darien's POV -
"Mine. All mine to taste." Like a flash of light, pain and bittersweet pleasure had found a place to dance the tango upon my skin. Upon saying those words, my hands impulsively pulled back the curls of silk threads, flaxen, on that blessed head of hers, tipping her head, so there would be easy access to her throat. To brand her, to make her mine. Fangs came seducively upon that tasteful neck of hers to find the sweetest blood, finer than the dirty prostitutes I've sucked the life from, or the walking dead homeless on the streets. I could never taste another without the desire of this blood, for this woman. I must have her, all of Serena Lawrynce, first body, then mind, then heart. Reluctantly, I stopped, careful not to send her to heaven yet, knowing that her energy was the lowest pitfall. With one last, traitor lick across that scalding skin, I knew she belonged to me, soulmates for life. I branded her; she was mine.
No other man would taste her, or it would be his death sentence. Limply, her body fell unconscious from the lack of life, but I knew that she would survive. Like my great-grandpapa, Count Dracula, I carried the clad in white maiden to my obsidian room in the way a sexually-frustrated groom would carry his blushing bride.
Soon and very soon, you will be mine, little one.
Fourth episode of this shit show starring those shit chararcters
Bunny: Can I have another Bloody Mary and two tequillas?
Waiter/Waitress: Hey like, don't you think that is too much?
Bunny: *grabs him/her by the collar and points at the gay German guy and an eccentric Serena on stage for kareoke* I think that's too much, but does anything happen? No! Now get me three tequillas, lesbian.
Waiter/Waitress: But, I'm a guy with fake boobs.
Bunny: Do I give a shit if your boobs are real?
Waiter/Waitress: *runs away crying to his boyfriend*
Bunny: *watches Bunny and German Guy sing "Independent Woman" while a crowd of guys dance around a pole wearing a rag for a bikini*
A 99.9 drinks later . . .
Bunny: Opps. There goes my skirt. Opps. There goes my shirt. *stripteasing on top of the bar table* Whee.
Waiter/Waitress: I think maam that you should get off. You're scaring away the people.
Some gay guy named Cleo: Jonnie, my eyes hurt. It burns. Tell her to stop. Wahhh! *being comforted by boyfriend*
German guy and Serena: I think she's the wierd one.
German Guy (A.K.A. Pelly) Don't worry, God still loves her. *Suddenly a big voice from the sky bellows out "I don't love her. I love Hitler more." Sending a swarm of Mini-Barneys flying singing the "Hey Jude" song. At this very moment, the gay strip club was in chaos. The guys in bikinis were running around with their saggy butts going up and down, while perverted geeks with no girlfriends watch. The waiter/waitress is running to the girl's bathroom and starts making out with the janitor named Susan.
Bunny: Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
Pelly and Serena: Ahh. I'm in hell!
Bunny: Welcome to hell. Population: 3. Muwahahaha.
Pelly and Serena: *faces stuck to the window in attempts to escape* No!
Bunny: Hey Jude . . .